


You Don’t Have to Use Your Charm

by crushcandles



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 06:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21489823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushcandles/pseuds/crushcandles
Summary: It’s Saturday now, and Billy could be anywhere else, but he’s here in the ugly school showers, jerking off so Steve Harrington can watch.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 25
Kudos: 281





	You Don’t Have to Use Your Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icarusinflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/gifts).

> Title from [ Royal T](https://youtu.be/yL9Hrz28yGs) by Crookers ft. Roisin Murphy.

Harrington is late. He said nine-thirty, but it must after ten by now. The sides of Billy's feet and his fingertips have gone grey and grooved from being in the water for so long and the air is swampy from the steam mixing with the cold air crawling in the propped open field door. 

Billy keeps putting his hand on the shower handle. To turn it off, he'd have to push it through the cold water setting. It's better if you just snap it off. That way the water only has a chance to go lukewarm before it quits. But Billy just keeps tilting it into the cold side, and once cold water hits his scalp and his shoulders, he pushes it back to the warm side. He puts his other hand back on his dick, warm water running down his pruny fingers, over his half-hard cock. He starts jerking it. He's gone totally soft a few times, from nerves and annoyance and the cold, but it doesn't take much to get him going again. 

He's got his eyes closed against the water and his lip between his teeth when he hears the careful sound of the propped door being closed, the board Billy pried off the dug-out when he picked the lock being set aside gently. Billy tips his head down, shower water splashing against his shoulder, so he can see his dick getting fatter and pink-headed in his fist. He shuffles over so he's not so shielded by the shower heads. Out of the line of the spray the tile is cold and a little slimy. He keeps his eyes closed and his fist moving, slowly, like he's got all the time in the world. He wasn't waiting for anything.

Harrington's sneakers slap wetly against the tile at the edge of the showers. Coach said they fixed the leak so the floors shouldn't be so wet all the goddamn time, but Billy's been in the shower for ages. Everything must feel wet now. When Harrington sits on the wooden bench people get dressed on, it sounds moist, mushy. 

Billy tilts his cock up, jerking it that way so the slide feels longer. If it makes it easier for Harrington to see the length of it and his balls, then he can deal with it. 

Some of the water has dripped off his face, so Billy can open his eyes a little without going blind. He keeps his chin tucked so it's not obvious he’s looking. Harrington is sitting on the bench near the lockers, same place he sits to shimmy out of his basketball shorts after they play. He's fully dressed now though, jacket on, sneakers flat on the floor, hair already going floppy in the steam. His long hands are together between his knees and he’s leaning forward intently. He’s not pretending like he’s not paying attention.

Billy grunts a little, rising onto the balls of his feet so he can push into his fist. His cock’s not going soft now, no danger of that anymore. Between the water, his fist, and the eyes all over him, he won’t have a problem performing. 

Last time it'd been more difficult. But last time wasn't supposed to happen. Billy had been in the showers for a long time then too, but that's because he'd been running laps on the field and the water felt good on his sore thighs and cold feet. He hadn't been jerking off for show, but just because that's what you do in the shower, and it was more private at school than at home. Late Friday night, no kid sister hollering about her turn. Just Billy, one hand on the faucet, one on his dick, working himself up good, how he couldn't at home. 

He'd been at the point of no return, grunting, thinking about whatever he needed to get off, when the door had banged open. Not the one to the field that Billy had opened with his Swiss Army knife, but the one from inside the school. Steve Harrington had walked in, fucking strolled in, head turned over his shoulder, saying, "I'll get my bag and let myself out, Mr. Boyce, thank-" His head was already turning towards the sound of the shower as his mouth made the shape of _you_, but no sound came out. The door swung shut behind his body. He jerked strangely, feet stuck in place, but the rest of him pulled forward by his momentum.

They locked eyes. Harrington's were wide open, his mouth gaped too, _you_ forgotten. Billy's mouth was open too, gasping in the sour locker room steam. His body felt strange, cold and hot mixing in his dropping belly, and his cock softened up a bit in his hand even though his fist was still moving. 

Harrington's eyes dropped first, to the floor, and then to Billy's cock. His jaw dropped a little further, his mouth open enough Billy could see his tongue, a sweet-looking pink against his white teeth.

Billy had just been thinking about mouths, before Harrington came in here. How good and soft they felt, especially right when you were going to come.

"Oh, fuck," he'd said, dick going tight and hard as he came. Harrington's eyes stayed there the whole time as Billy frantically jerked it out. His mouth stayed open too. Billy looked at his tongue until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

"Fuck," he said again, prying his hand off, loose-kneed. He had to hold onto the faucet so he didn't end up on his ass. He stuck his shaky, come-covered palm under the spray automatically.

Something about that made Harrington lift his eyes. He finally shut his pink mouth as his whole face went red. He half-turned to the door, then back to Billy. His sneakers squeaked on the tile. 

"I-" he stuttered. He pointed at the door. "I. I forgot my bag. The janitor let me in."

Without his dick to focus on, all Billy had was the hot-cold shame in his belly. Jerking off in the showers at school was gross, and letting someone watch was way beyond that. Did Harrington know Billy had been looking at his mouth?

His hand, rinsed clean now, curled into a fist. He shook his hair out of his eyes, trembling, sneering at Harrington.

"Just had to stay for the show though?" he asked. That wasn't fair. It'd been over before Harrington could have bolted. Not that that mattered. Billy squared up against him, fists at his sides, away from the pipes. He wasn't afraid of Harrington. He'd stayed. 

Harrington's face was almost purple. His blush was so bad it was crawling down his throat. His mouth opened and closed a few times, too quick for Billy to see anything. His eyes wavered over Billy's hard face before dropping down to his dick again. 

It wasn't hard anymore, but it was still pink and thick. Billy grabbed it around the base, giving it a shake in Harrington’s direction.

"You want some more?" Billy spit. Harrington's eyes snapped back to Billy's face and he swallowed hard. Then he did bolt, stumbling out of the locker room. The door slammed behind him

"Come back and see me sometime!" Billy yelled after him, all bravado, even though he was sweating under the shower spray.

*

When he'd left, through the school – who cared if the janitor saw him now – he’d dumped Harrington's bag in front of his locker. Idiot didn't even get what he came for.

*

That had been weeks ago, long enough for the shame of being caught to lose a little of its edge. Billy had thought of it enough times that it wasn't so bad to think about anymore. He could handle turning it over in his mind, especially if he was jerking off. Putting it that way made it feel sort of good now, in a weird, embarrassing way. Same as needling Harrington, who Billy had watched turn blotchy when he got to school on Monday and found his bag. He'd looked helplessly, desperately at Billy, holding the bag in front of himself. He hadn't said anything about it and every time Billy caught his eye, he'd looked like he was begging Billy. For him not to say anything, not to beat the shit out of him, for something. 

Billy didn't do anything. It was gross; he didn't want anyone to know either, and fighting Steve Harrington was asking for questions Billy had no interest in answering.

He couldn't get enough of that face though. Harrington looked at him like that every time Billy came into his orbit, every time he laughed, every time he talked to someone. He was looking at Billy like that when Jake Summers plowed him over on the basketball court. 

Harrington went skidding so hard his shirt went up to his armpits. Coach blew the whistle and started yelling at Summers, calling him a _lummox_ and other shit. Billy jogged over to Harrington, who seemed dazed. He crouched, and held his hand out to Harrington, not for the first time.

Harrington didn’t take Billy’s hand. He laid there like a dummy instead. His eyes went from Billy's face to his crotch in his gym shorts like a reflex. His cheeks went red.

"Pull yourself together," Billy hissed, even as his blood went hot. 

"Sorry," Harrington said stupidly, still looking at Billy's dick.

He didn't take Billy's hand so Billy reached down for his wrist. 

"Saturday," Billy said, pissed-off, cock going stiff in his shorts anyway. "Showers. What time?"

Harrington came up to his elbows. "What?"

"What time are you showing up?" As if Billy was going to take all the blame for this one. 

"I." Harrington squeezed his eyes shut. "I. I. Nine-thirty?"

"Great. It's a date." Harrington's blush darkened at that. Billy jerked him up off the floor and then tossed his wrist away. Harrington turned away to tug his shirt down over his back, which was just as red as his face.

* 

It’s Saturday now, and Billy could be anywhere else, but he’s here in the ugly school showers, jerking off so Steve Harrington can watch. And Harrington's looking at him like Billy's pure porno, the first skinmag or jerk video he's ever seen in his little life. His left knee is jiggling so fast there's no way he's doing it on purpose, and he keeps flexing his fingers. His mouth is open, just barely.

Billy pulls his wet palm over the head of his dick, squeezing it tight in his fist. He closes his eyes against the feeling and Harrington's struck face, groaning. Harrington echoes the sound, then cuts it off, coughing. When Billy cracks his eye, Harrington's flush in the face, digging the fingers on one hand into the wrist of the other. He's bent over too far for Billy to see if he's hard, but he's willing to bet Harrington is. Billy recognizes the pinched-up eyebrows, has seen it on other boys and felt himself doing it. 

He strokes his dick a couple more times before dropping his hand to his balls. He's still not sure if he likes this much. The feeling is too much a lot of the time when he touches them, like he's already blown his load. But he thinks it looks good, so he cups them, lifting them up towards his cock, squeezing as much as he dares before releasing them. Harrington's big eyes track every move and he shifts forward and back on the bench. 

The question's in Billy's mouth: _You do that when you jerk off?_ Because Harrington didn't wince when Billy squeezed himself. Maybe when he's alone, in his bed or the shower Billy hears he doesn't have to share with anybody, he plays with his balls. He probably rubs the seam in the middle and tugs on them while he jerks off. Probably squeezes them while he comes, which makes Billy feel like the top of his head is going to come off. But Harrington probably likes that kind of shit, if he's here, watching Billy rub one out for the second time.

Billy doesn't ask him. The air feels too thick to talk, and Harrington's only looking at his cock, not at him. Billy doesn't want to know what he'd say. It could be no. He licks his wet lips instead and goes back to his cock, jerking it a little faster now. The shuddery, tight feeling is getting to Billy. All that time spent playing with his dick is catching up to him. Usually he can go for a long time, but now he’s breathing hard through his nose and struggling to keep his eyes open.

Across from him, Harrington's sitting up just enough that he can get a hand in to rub against the stiffy in his jeans. With the steam and the distance it's hard to tell, but it looks big. Harrington's cock looks alright when he's in the showers, but Billy's never stared at it or anything. Now the lump in Harrington's jeans seems worth the all girls' sighing Billy’s heard. 

Still half-pawing at himself, Harrington fumbles the button and zip on his jeans open so he can jam his hand in there. He's still hunched over but he scoots his skinny ass to the edge of the bench so he can spread his knees wide to get the leverage to push his hips up. There's no rich boy solo shower languor here. Harrington's jerking his dick like his life depends on it, his big eyes on Billy.

Billy closes his eyes, thinking about anything he can keep it together: how musty it smells in here; a bread recipe he saw in a magazine at the dentist; how a fist feels, hitting flesh. None of those thoughts help though, he's coming, swamped with it, almost as stunned as last time. Come hits his belly, slicking his fingers, slipping down his skin. 

"Shit," he groans softly. It's a good one, ball-pulsing, heart-thumping. Billy keeps jerking himself, making a mess. Across from him, Harrington's mouth is hanging open so he can pant. His whole face is shiny from the steam and his fist is still pumping in his jeans.

Billy squeezes the base of his cock, shivering through the last of his orgasm. It hasn't been like that practically since he figured out what his dick is for. If the showers weren’t so grimy, Billy’d sit down to rest for a minute.

A sound breaks through Billy's steamy brain fog. It's Harrington moaning. He's still sitting on the bench, but his hips are twitching around like crazy, into his hand and in a circle. He must be the kind of boy that can't stay still when he jerks off, probably humping his fist in the shower, face on the tile. He can't see Billy watching him. His eyes are closed, face pulled like a pinch, although his mouth is still open. Billy watches his tongue lash inside his mouth, from one cheek to the other. 

Billy can't come again so soon, but he keeps a hand on himself, stroking up to the tip of his cock and holding it in his curled fist, just feeling good while he watches Harrington get his nut. 

It comes over Harrington all at once. His fist keeps going at the same fast pace, but his body freezes for a second before his free hand clamps onto the bench and his hips rise right off it. His mouth drops open to let out a loud, wet sound. His fist stops jerking. Even from here, Billy can see Harrington's arm and wrist tightening, squeezing himself. His eyes stay closed, making it easier for him to think about whatever he does when he's getting off.

Billy smiles, because he’s come-dumb and he knew it, Harrington’s a squeezer. He squeezes his own dick too before letting it drop. He sidles back into the spray that's finally giving up and cooling. He uses his fingers to push the come from his belly and thighs into the line of the water. It washes off him and down the drain like nothing, like that didn’t just happen.

It takes Harrington a few tries to open his eyes all the way. He licks his mouth and takes a few struggling breaths before lifting his head. He looks at Billy like he forgot where he was. Wincing, he lifts his hips up so he can ease his hand out of his jeans. He holds it in a cup, although some jizz still drips down to the tile between his sneakers.

He looks away from Billy, and then back again. He gets up slowly, mindful of his hand, and steps over the lip into the showers.

"Uh," he says, still coming slowly. When he's almost at the spray, Billy steps back out of it, away from him. Harrington puts his hand into it. The water mixes with his jizz, taking it down the drain too. Harrington turns his hand over under the water, spreading his fingers, practiced at this part.

"Um," he says. He bites his lip. A different red comes over his cheeks, more blushing instead of come-rashy. 

"What," Billy snaps. His dick is soft now. He came and he's cold and Harrington still won't stop fucking looking at him.

Harrington pulls his hand out of the water. He clears his throat, stepping up to Billy, eyes flickering from Billy's face to his dick.

"You, uh," he says, reaching out with one dry hand, one wet hand.

Billy pushes Harrington back, twin wet handprints on his blue shirt. Harrington's still fully dressed, although his jeans are sagging open so Billy can see the damp front of his briefs. He's got his sneakers on too, so he doesn't go far. Just enough that the spray catches him for a second, soaking his shoulders, the back of his hair. He catches himself on the faucet, and steps out before he gets totally wet. He looks startle-eyed at Billy, confused and flushed. 

"Whoa, what the fuck?" Billy asks, his gut churning. He let Harrington in here, let him watch Billy jerking off which he's clearly been dying to do for weeks, if how hard he came is any indication. It's gross but Billy let him watch and now Harrington wants, what? To get up in his face too?

He looks at his pile of clothes on the bench, next to where Harrington sat while he jerked off watching Billy jerk off. He could get them in a second, be out the door onto the field right after that. He could get dressed in the dug-out. It'll be cold, but that doesn’t matter 

"I thought you," Harrington says. He rubs his hands on his jeans, which pulls them lower. His sneakers are water-logged. 

"Thought you wanted..." Harrington says again, haltingly. Billy's eyes snap back to his face. Harrington's eyebrows are pinched up again, not like he's horny. He doesn't seem to know how to say whatever it is. His cheek and the side of his neck are wet. 

"What?" Billy's armpits are hot but his belly is cold. His knees feel watery. He has goose-bumps on his arms and thighs. He feels stupid standing here with his dick out but he’s not gonna cover it like a coward. It's too late for that anyway. He takes two steps back before he can stop himself though, although he's not moving toward the bench and his clothes and the door. The only thing behind him is the wall, a couple of feet away. 

Harrington doesn't say anything. He takes a step toward Billy. He's further in the spray now, hair melting, water splashing over his face. His jeans are pretty well soaked now. Through their parted fly, Billy can see how pink Harrington’s dick is through his wet underwear. He wonders how much of the wetness is water and how much is come. If Harrington came closer, Billy would be able to touch it and find out.

The thought makes Billy shiver. Harrington watches him do it, eyes moving from Billy's dick to his nipples to his face. Very deliberately, he takes a step, then another. Harrington's looking at Billy's lips as he moves, licking shower water off his own mouth. This time, Billy stands his ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently acting ridiculous on tumblr at [crushcandles](https://crushcandles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
